This Blessed Sip of Life
by At A Venture
Summary: Eric/Sookie. Oneshot. Eric explains his origins...


_A/N: Be wary of some suggestions of violence! Also, the title of this fic is from "Pig" by Dave Matthews Band.  
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**This Blessed Sip of Life**

He stared at the crackling embers for a long time, and I didn't think he would answer me. I watched him with an anxious feeling in my gut, and some part of me wished that he would turn on me, fangs bared, if only I could see him move again. I considered touching his arm, engaging him, but my fingers trembled violently. I could only watch him, and wait.

"I was born to a blacksmith and the daughter of a metal artisan during the coldest winter they had yet seen." His lips barely parted when he spoke at last. His voice was deep and thick with an ancient language. "My mother gave birth to twelve children in all, but I was one of only four sons. She often told me that she was astonished by my resilience, my effort to stay alive that first winter."

He paused and held his hand out to me. I took it, my fingers still quivering, and bent my head to kiss his knuckles before he pulled me against his side. The movement was graceful and tender, not at all what I had expected of him. His lips brushed my crown at the hairline before his fingers drifted up into my mane. He raked through it thoughtfully, pulling lightly at the wavy curls.

"Only three of us survived to adulthood, my elder brother Alefant and my elder sister Syrith. We were all strong and virile, and I know that both of my siblings lived long lives. We honored our parents by taking care of my father after my mother's death. She passed on giving birth to a twelfth child, a girl with white-blond hair. My father taught his trade to Alefant, and metalwork to my sister, Syrith. As the youngest child, I was sent out to make my own way."

"They kicked you out?" I whispered, unable to hide the horror in my voice.

"I would not have made a good blacksmith." He chuckled slightly, vibrating my chest with his rumbling. "Even at a young age, my father knew I was destined for other things. I could not train to be a warrior because of our low social status, but my skills in combat did not go unrecognized. I had a lust for battle that was noticeable among the men in our settlement. I was hired by an outfit of mercenaries."

I watched the low flames dance in his black pupils. How many men had he killed in battles where his loyalty was decided by the weight of gold in his pocket? Had he enjoyed the spoils of war? I shuddered at the thought of it, and he turned to look at me.

"You may judge me as you please, my lover." His voice was smooth, but not careless. "I killed hundreds of men, and I took pleasure in our victories. I was considered a great soldier among my outfit, and like many, I was feared by the women in the settlements we conquered. I was not a kind man."

"People change," I murmured, burying myself in his chest. I closed my eyes to try to block out an image of him raping his way through a hut full of young women, but that only made the scene in my head more vivid. I opened my eyes again. I had asked for this story.

"Perhaps," he said. "I took my wife from one of those settlements, a beautiful woman with dark brown braids and vibrant green eyes. She was unusual among her people, a strange beauty. She was traded to me by the elders of her clan, in exchange for peace from the men in my camp. Her name was Botilt."

"Times were different then, and one rarely made a love match. I had no time for courting. Botilt was full of anger, at her clan and at me. I rarely saw her, and when I did return to her, it was only to implant her with my seed. She had no sense or understanding of men or how to go about pleasing me, let alone herself. I believe she was miserable and possibly fearful of me as well."

I glanced up at the forever young face of my Viking vampire. Had I not been bonded to him, I might not have seen the pain, humiliation, and regret in his features. His skin was ashen with emotions that never played on his face. I doubted he would ever admit that he felt any remorse for the way he had lived his human life. It had been hundreds of years ago that these sins had been committed, and there was no use in dwelling on them now. Still, it was obvious to me that it hurt him to recall the past. I squeezed his hand to let him know I was still at his side.

"Botilt gave me only four children, two boys born dead, a girl that died within a few hours of birth, and another daughter, whom I named Enec, after my mother. I cherished my daughter. I took two years leave from battle to tend to my child, using the treasures of war to feed and shelter her. Botilt never warmed to me, and I admit, I forced myself on her more than once to satisfy my own pleasures."

He paused again, and his hand fell away from my hair. He leaned his elbows on his thighs and stretched out his back. His head bent forward, and strands of hair fell into his eyes. They closed slowly. I watched him, immobile and afraid.

"One afternoon, when Enec was nearly two years old, I came home to find her extremely ill. She suffered greatly with a stomach problem that caused her to vomit up all that she had eaten, and continue long after her bowels were empty. She died in my arms after two days of illness. Botilt was away with the doctor."

I felt hot tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks as he spoke. His voice had almost warmed when he spoke of his child, his only daughter, and then it had frozen over again. I wanted to pull him into my arms, to hold his cheek against my breast, to comfort him. Instead, I stared as his eyes opened and met the embers in the fireplace.

"There is not a doubt in my mind that Botilt murdered Enec to be rid of me."

I hadn't meant to make a sound, but a gasp of pain slipped from of my lips and wavered in the air. I couldn't help crying harder, though I struggled to make my tears silent. How much of this sadness was my own sadness and how much of it was his? Our emotions blended together and filled me with pain. Eric sat back slowly and lifted me into his lap. He folded his arms around me and pressed my wet face against his shirt.

"In the last thousand years, Sookie, I have forgiven her. Botilt saw me at my most vicious on the night that Enec left me. I hurt her as I have never wanted anyone to hurt since. I beat her. I forced myself upon her. I made her suffer as she made me suffer."

The words frightened me. His hands were in my hair again, but my skin covered with gooseflesh. I was torn between a desire to be near him and comforted by him, and a desire to be as far away from him as I could get.

"I could not bring myself to kill her, so I sent my child to the gods, and then sent my self away to battle. Enec's death changed everything inside of me. Though I had lusted for battle before, I had enjoyed the sport and the triumph of it. I was no more than a seething, mindless killer when Enec left me. I split apart families. I ransacked settlements. I was a blight upon the earth, a maniac, and a murderer."

There was a hate inside him, though I couldn't tell what he hated. Was it the way he had acted or his hate for any family he might find happy? My gut wrenched with his conflicting emotions. I buried myself deeper in his embrace.

"I was mortally wounded during a battle that had carried on for three straight days. My men and I had not slept nor eaten, and we were losing ground. I was stabbed in the stomach with a spear and then captured by my enemies. They tortured me, humiliated me by cutting off my beard, and left me in a bank of snow to bleed to death. I prayed to the gods for peace, for an end to my suffering life. I wanted to die, Sookie. I was in so much pain."

He wasn't pained now. His deep voice was flecked with nostalgia, but I could not hear anguish in it. Obviously he had died, but then he had been born again. Something told me he had not asked to become a vampire. But then, who did?

"A young woman bent over me as I lay dying, freezing in the cold with blood spilling from my side. She had waves of light brown hair, and brilliant green eyes that lit up her angelic face. If my Enec had lived, I do not doubt they would have looked alike. She told me I was beautiful and that she was sorry for my torment. She fed from me until I was on the brink of death, and she filled me with her blood. We slept alongside one another in a hand-dug grave under a hill of snow, and when I awakened, I was blind with hunger."

"My maker's name was Tsura, and she had traveled north from what would become Eastern Europe to delight in our long sunless winter. She could not have been more than twelve when she was turned, and she was young when she made me, no more than one hundred years old. Tsura's innocence and youth shaped me in those early years, and she encouraged me to return to my family, and to enact vengeance on Botilt."

My shoulders tensed.

"I murdered my wife, pregnant with our fifth child, and mutilated her body."

Eric closed his eyes again and loosened his grip on me. My flesh crawled as I thought of Botilt, her body desecrated by a rancorous vampire. I couldn't think of an emotional response, and thus a thousand different ones rolled through me in waves. Disgust and fear, pain and hatred, anger and deep, deep sadness. I felt my body temperature rise and then drop until I shivered violently. The Viking pulled me close again, and I wept.

"Forgive me for frightening you, my love," he said so softly that I barely heard him.

What could I say to that? It was a long time ago? It had been. I understand? I didn't. I'm scared of you? I was.

"This is why vampires don't often share their lives with humans," I said.

"Yes, I imagine that is why." He turned his body and put his long legs up across the sofa cushions. He rearranged me so that my head rested upon his muscular abdomen, and my legs dipped down between his. My eyes stung with drying tears. I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Enec still comes to my mind sometimes, and I wonder if she would be anything like you. I am drawn to women that celebrate their independence. Enec was brave and fierce and full of spirit."

"Pam, too," I murmured against his stomach.

"Mm, Pam as well, yes."

"I don't know what to say," I admitted after a long period of silence. What could I say that would tell him I still loved him, still wanted to be with him, but that could also tell him how scared I was, how truly frightened I felt?

"I can feel the conflict of emotions within you, Sookie. I know that you are afraid, and distressed, and full of love."

"I would never hurt you," I whispered. It seemed to be the right thing to say. Before tonight, I'd never thought it was possible to hurt him. But now I'd seen him vulnerable. I didn't ever want to see him so vulnerable again.

"And I will never hurt you, my love," he replied, lifting his hand again to stroke my hair and spine.

The fire sputtered and went out.


End file.
